Failed Attempt
by Iwilo
Summary: He babbled at an enemy unseen, shaking with terror, his tiny deep-set eyes rolling as he frothed at the mouth like a panick-maddened horse. "Fybe," he cried miserably, "Em Fybe."


Fyve shuddered and clutched his burning gut with both arms, bending forward until his bent up knees stopped his chin. A shuddering, growling sob escaped him and the sound made his ears hurt. He clenched his teeth together and the sound dwindled to a hiss.

He opened his eyes but was greeted only with darkness. He'd gone blind again. The first time, hours ago – days? – he had wailed in terror at the abrupt loss of his sight. While the fact that a part of his brain had shut out the ability to see was disturbing to say the least, he didn't allow himself to panic as badly. "Will came back. Camed back lasstime," he whimpered through a clenched jaw. His pathetic sounds made him feel ill, and had he not already thrown up every bit of food, drink, and acid in his churning stomach, he'd have done so now.

Pathetic and disgusting, covered in his own filth, he was nothing more than a dying, suffering beast. An animal. "Dey made me aneemal," he shuddered. His eyes pressed tightly shut and he groaned as another cramp wracked his rigid body. The hooded cloak he wore felt suddenly heavy instead of comforting and he growled as he threw it off roughly, the movement causing all of his aching muscles to tense.

A fine sheen of sweat covered every inch of his exposed, pale blue skin. The troll's dark indigo dreadlocks, nearly black, were matted down at the neck with sweat. He had removed all of his leather armor at some point, save for his stained white undershirt, before replacing his cloak. Drawing the damp shirt up over his head, he barked angrily as it caught on both his over-long tusks. With a rip, he tore it free and dropped it aside before opening his eyes.

There, now, he could see. Just as it had, the blindness again passed, though the sight of the cave's dirt floor, splattered with drying vomit was no reassurance. He didn't know what was happening to him, but he knew why. His discarded flask lay somewhere outside the cave, full and waiting, beckoning him. He would crawl out there and find it, save himself from this hell.

"Nah! Nah dunna wish it!" he cried miserably, his eyes widening as the spiders returned once again. The fucking spiders. He cried out in disgust as they swarmed from all directions, their fat abdomens a sickly shade of pale tan yellow. He closed his eyes but he could see them anyway, spiders the size of his fist crawling everywhere. One crawled over his penis and he swatted it away with a disgusted cry. He hugged his knees and babbled incoherently until they vanished again.

His voice was a dry croak as it broke the silence, "Gone is gone now. Fybe no spider. See? Is gone." He finished the sentence with a dark chuckle that he forcibly cut off before it could become a hysterical scream. He stared at the ceiling. He stared at the dry, stone walls that were cold as he was cold. He stared at his filthy feet and the square nails there. He stared at the tusks that partially obscured his vision and he brought his left hand up to grab at one as his feverish, dazed eyes stared around the shallow cave.

He looked down and blinked. When his eyes opened, there were a set of boot-clad feet in front of him, framed by his bright tusks, blindingly white to his eyes. "Oh… no. Please no," he shuddered.

"So it speaks, now?" the horrible, sly and sarcastic voice that he had come to dread teased. "Tell me, beast, can you beg for mercy with words now?" Fyve shook his head furiously, unaware that he was biting his tongue and blood now leaked from the corner of his cruel-looking mouth. "No. Not beast. Not aneemal. Is Fybe."

"Beast. Animal. Filth," Lord Falhand laughed.

Fyve brought his horrified, enraged gaze up to meet his tormentor's. "EM FYBE NOW!" he screamed, "LIKE DA FUCKIN' NUMMER!" He spit at the handsome and terrifying human that towered over him and made him small, despite the fact that he was a good two feet taller than the man.

In the rancid-smelling cave, the troll covered in his own filth reared his ugly head back and spit blood into the air from his wounded tongue. He babbled at an enemy unseen, shaking with terror, his tiny deep-set eyes rolling as he frothed at the mouth like a panick-maddened horse. "Fybe," he cried miserably, "Em Fybe."

Fyve sobbed bitterly up into the lord's leering grin. "Ya canna take myname. Nah my fuckin' name. Myname. Mine. Myname." Falhand began to laugh at him as he continued to ridicule the helplessly sick troll. It was like before, now. It was like in the beginning, and he was scared and small and enraged at his position but he didn't understand a damned word that the pink and angry, black-clad figure spit at him in disgust. He only knew loathing and terror. He was, once again, an animal.

He could have stared up into the man's face for minutes or hours, as he listened to the alien sounds that meant nothing to him. Time was tricking him, as his eyes tricked him with the spiders. How did Falhand find him? Why couldn't he understand Common anymore? Why he was on this stone floor, instead of bound to the rough wooden bracers, he couldn't comprehend. Where was he?

"OKAY!" he cried. "Okay," he sobbed brokenly as he nodded, snot running down his grime-and-tear streaked face. "Aneemal. Monser. I am it. Troll. Aneemal," his voice, naturally with a slightly nasal tinge, was choked and strange to him, as everything was strange to him. "I wish to die," he muttered, as the vision before him faded away. Was it ever there?

"Dinna happen. Canna hurr me," his voice was plaintive and begging. "Must you continue to whine, you stupid curr?" Fyve wailed at the voice that was present only within his head, but realer than the sight of his surroundings, the sounds he made. He began to babble again, lifting his tusks toward the ceiling as the blood, spit, tears and snot pooled on his belly.

With a guttural cry, the troll launched himself to his feet, stumbling and falling to a crouch with both hands splayed on the dirty stone floor. His head turned then, in a smooth and quick manner displayed by birds of prey. Bounding silently from the cave, he disappeared into the bushes, well aware of the odors on him; piss, blood, eggy-acid vomit and sweat assailed his flared nostrils. It didn't matter anymore. He didn't care.

Clutching the dented metal flask in his hand, fumbling with the cap, his sobs became ones of relief at the feeling of the familiar object. He threw back his head, his throat working in mighty waves as he sucked greedily at the welcome and bitter burn that felt like the closest thing to home he had ever known.

The troll lie on his side, his mean face completely blank as he stared at nothing and waited for the burn to become the numbness he knew so well.

* * *

Fyve, username "Fybe", currently resides on Moon Guard server US. True to his character, he is an antisocial and mean mushmouth. Come say hi sometime.

~ I'wilo

While I do not own anything associated with Blizzard/WoW, my characters are my own creation and they all bear parts of my personality. Please, please don't use them in any stories unless we have rped and they act true to the rp we had. Thanks and I hope you enjoyed reading.


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